Just two fuck ups being assholes together
by DeannaReadX
Summary: "I fucked it up, didn't I?" "You sort of fucked everything up to be honest," Draco tells him "but then so did I," he says. "I guess we're just two fuck ups being assholes together then?" "Yes," Draco grins at him "I reckon we are"


I wrote this purely for my own selfish need to read something for this pairing, but naturally I want you guys to see it too. I have no idea if this has any validity though, its so difficult with two characters from different universes. Still, I hope you enjoy, and as ever, let me know what you think.

Dee xx

* * *

Draco grumpily shuts the door of the taxi behind him with a little more force than is probably necessary, dragging his suitcase out of the boot, and throwing a twenty pound note at the driver through the front passenger window, gritting his teeth and ignoring the snappy insult muttered at him when the car drives away.

He stands there for a moment, a look of distaste on his face, wetting his lips and drawing in a deep breath, letting the exhale puff out his cheeks for a second, incredibly frustrated with having to use muggle transport and travelling without using magic for the past forty eight hours. The air already tastes cleaner here, or at least, less contaminated with the whir of city pollution. He dislikes it.

He blinks a few times, attempts to calm his irritation, and drops a hand in the pocket of his jeans, raising his eyebrows at the scene in front of him. Directly ahead is a footpath slash road through what he's assuming is the main village, the concrete uneven, wide-ish, a bus stop behind him along with what looks to be two houses and a veterinary surgery to the left of it. On the left in front of him, at the beginning of a row of houses stretching to the back of the village, is a small cottage café with tiny round tables and seating outside, old school windows complete with pamphlets and advertisement fliers that make it appear as though it belongs in a seventies soap opera with close-to-the-knuckle humour spouted by old ladies on mobility scooters.

To the right is a significantly more appealing brownstone B&B with a sloping stretch of front garden grass and cobblestones attached, beside it, a rural but pretty little classically british pub titled with an equally unoriginal british pub name; The Woolpack. Really? Woolpack? In the middle of a countryside surrounded by farms and sheep?

Beside the pub there are more houses, and then a break in the road for what looks to be a garage, but he can't see so well from the entrance to the unsettlingly small community, and a church right at the back. Further to the near left of him, he sees a cemetery with a significantly large amount of headstones for such a miniscule population of people. It's cold, and his breath is visible in the air, frost covering several of the closest surfaces; but the autumn sun shines its dark orange glare and lights up the area, and, Draco notes reluctantly, he can see why Robert keeps getting pulled back here. It's aesthetically pleasing at the very least.

After he feels like he won't kill the next person he sees, he huffs again, picks up his suitcase, and walks forward, heading first to the pub. If he's going to be dealing with this sort of out-of-the-way-of-civilisation lifestyle, he wants an ice cold glass of Guinness and a plate of chips.

Opening the doors, he's momentarily taken aback by the amount of people present considering that it's the middle of the day, but then he remembers that this is agricultural Yorkshire and they're in the middle of nowhere, so he shrugs it off and sits up at the bar on the stool farthest away from everyone already there. He pushes off the niggling of anxiety at the back of his mind at the crowded atmosphere, and swallows, nodding at the bar lady as she comes over. She's in her late thirties, early forties, and is pretty, with waved out dark hair, creamy skin, and brown eyes, a particularly rough edge to her demeanour.

"Guinness and chips if the kitchen is open, thanks," he says unemotionally, placing a tenner on the oak wood and leaning back against the wall beside him, propping his suitcase up and finally letting himself relax slightly, running a hand through his hair and cracking his back.

"Marlon," she yells shamelessly over her shoulder as she pulls the pint "chips! You want cheese on them, pretty?" she asks, smiling at him, eyes following the length of his body. He smirks at her amusedly and shakes his head.

"No thank you, pretty"

"Look at this! Kid knows how to flirt"

"Kid is twenty," he tells her, raising one eyebrow.

"I'm still going to have to see some ID, love," she grins, and he pulls it out of the back pocket of his jeans. She looks at it for a second, then nods, satisfied "you stick out like a sore thumb"

"I'm not surprised, this looks like a place where everyone knows everyone and new people are the talk of the village by lunch time"

"You're not wrong. You in town for someone?" she inquires, sliding his pint across to him, and laughing a little at how pleased he looks to drink it.

"I am, ,but I doubt you'll be as friendly if I told you who," he smirks slightly, swigging immediately at his drink, resisting the urge to gasp at how good it feels sliding down his throat.

"Well, let's see, you're blonde, you're from money, look like someone shat in your cereal. I'm going to take a wild guess and say you're here for dickbag Sugden"

"Oooh, harsh but intuitive. I like it"

"You're very cute, but you're young enough to be my son, who should be here to work my shift for me. Diane," she yells again, and Draco drinks some more, assuming that she has a habit of yelling for people "is Aaron here yet?"

"Bloody hell, I'm here, now bugger off"

"Finally," she remarks as what Draco takes is her son enters behind the bar.

He's dressed in a t-shirt and black jeans, unshaven and clearly has a sharp chip on his shoulder, his shoulders broad and vaguely defensive. But his eyes, a pretty blue, are kind and haunted, young and… yeah, Draco isn't stupid; he can spot a fellow queer from a mile away. It's a talent.

"Change the Fosters barrel in a couple of hours, make sure Marlon doesn't slack, and try not to fall in love with this beautiful blonde with more money than sense and a bad boy grin? No offence, but he has a type," she tells her son, kissing him on the cheek and glancing back at Draco.

"I don't have a type, mum," Aaron tuts at her grumpily, wiping his face where she kissed him and frowning at Draco.

"He's in town for Robert," she tells him, and Aaron's expression changes almost immediately, shifting on his feet slightly. Draco smiles again, recognition dawning on him. That's Aaron then. The Aaron that Robert is helplessly in love with and ruined his life for. Interesting.

"He know you're here?" Aaron asks as his mum leaves.

"He asked me here for moral support," Draco replies, taking the tobacco pouch from his jeans, along with his filters and rizzlas, starting to roll.

Aaron snorts bitterly, and Draco doesn't blame him. From what he's caught over the phone of Robert's one man pity party, Aaron has been royally screwed over multiple times in the wake of all this bullshit.

"How d'ya know him?"

"A couple of summers ago I was travelling through London. I met your idiot boyfriend when I was… attempting discretion," he says, smirking slightly when Aaron raises an eyebrow at him, Draco not making eye contact and skilfully packing the baccy.

"He aint my boyfriend. And 'attempting discretion'? What the fuck does that even mean? You like… CIA or something?"

"I don't know what that is. But I was in trouble; I needed somewhere to hide, and Robert sorted me out"

"Doesn't seem like Robert, he doesn't do anything for anyone if it doesn't benefit him," Aaron remarks as he pours an older guy a glass of whiskey and gives him the change.

"Touche. I paid him"

"There it is, so what, lasting bond?" Aaron tuts, leaning against the bar in front of him

"You could say that. But a lot has changed since then, and I've got nowhere better to be right now"

"Rich kid has nowhere better to be than Emmerdale? Fuck, it must be bad"

"What makes you say I'm rich?"

"Your jeans are Armani"

"Awh, look at you playing to the stereotype. I love butch gays, so adorable," Draco laughs, resisting the urge to reach over the bar and pinch Aaron's cheeks; he can see why Robert is attracted to such a snarky chav now.

"Mate," Aaron says, looking as though he can't figure out if he should be pissed off or amused "you paid for that pint, drink it before it goes over your head"

"Down, greasemonkey," Robert's voice announces his presence, along with the hand he places on Draco's shoulder "how did you manage to piss him off already? You've only been here ten minutes"

Draco grins, standing up and embracing Rob tightly, pulling back and holding his neck either side, looking at him properly.

"You look like shit," he remarks, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the lack of product in his hair.

"You don't look much better," Robert retorts, sitting down at the bar beside him "usual"

"Fuck you, I can't believe there's two of you. I hate my life," Aaron huffs, pulling him his drink nonetheless.

"You love it," Robert corrects him.

"No, I really don't," Aaron replies, taking his money.

"How do you live here?" Draco asks him, as Aaron wonders off to the other side of the bar to talk to a short woman with great hair and a sparkle in her eyes "it smells like manure and old age pensioners"

"I don't know, I ask myself the same thing every day," Robert sighs, taking his eyes off of Aaron where they linger for a second too long, finally giving Draco his full attention.

"How's Chrissie?" Draco asks as the chef, a ridiculously tall, skinny man with soft eyes and a slightly haggard look to him, places his chips in front of him, and leaves without saying anything.

"Furious, but settling for a million split," Rob remarks, looking completely exhausted as he drinks some of his lager and wets his lips.

"Ideal considering the circumstances. You know, the ones where you cheated on her with a chavvy male mechanic for six months, coerced her son into convincing her that he was suicidal, staged a robbery in her home, caused her father to have a heart attack, and refused to budge until she gave you way more money to walk away with than you deserve"

"Dick! You're supposed to be on my side!" Rob remarks, looking completely exhausted as he drinks some of his lager and wets his lips.

"Are _you_ on your side?"

"I'm always on my side, I'm such an asshole, I'm the only one who is," Robert says, stealing one of Draco's chips.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, someone loves you," Draco replies, glancing over at Aaron.

"Unfortunately he also hates me," Robert swallows and rubs his mouth with his hand stressfully.

"He has a right to"

"I know that, doesn't mean I'm happy about it. Why do you look so dead on your feet anyway?"

"Might have something to do with the fact that I just got spat out of the rear end of a war that's lasted two centuries, murdered hundreds of people in multiple battles, was a racist piece of shit for the majority of my childhood, and the years of psychological manipulation and torture I just broke through?"

"Maybe," Rob nodded with a small, sympathetic, breathy laugh, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing "but that's over. And so is my marriage and my relationship with the only guy I ever actually loved, so we could just have a few pints here, and then go back to my overpriced room at the shitty B&B my aunt owns, curl up on the bumpy mattress we're sleeping on, and watch some awful television on the tiny television at the bottom of my bed?"

"Sounds wonderful," Draco drawls "I can hardly wait"

* * *

He wakes up to Robert snoring unattractively into his neck, laid mostly on top of him, both of them freezing cold, the television still on at the bottom of the bed, the sounds of a hoover moving down the hall outside their room, and someone sobbing next door. He frowns and grumbles, wincing and grimacing at the taste in his mouth.

"Move the fuck over," he grunts, cursing when Robert just snorts and sniffs, wiggling his nose and going on sleeping. He huffs and shoves him, rolling him away, and Robert just snuggles further into his own pillow, the blanket only half covering his naked ass. Draco pulls himself up with his elbows and swings his legs off the side of the mattress, rolling a cigarette with his eyes half open.

He makes himself a drink with the complimentary kettle and cheap coffee on the chest of draws, tugging one of Robert's jumpers over his skinny abdomen and padding over to the window, cracking it wide, shivering at the bitter cold it lets in, and lighting up. He has to admit that whilst he has a specific distaste for the countryside in all its dirty demeanour, the light of the morning sun across its vast expanse of green is stunning and contracts an ambience of beautiful sadness in his chest.

Robert wakes up a little while later and for a moment, Draco catches a deep pain etched into his unfairly handsome features, his sleepy eyes droopy and slightly confused until they register the crying in the room next to them, and something akin to remembrance flits across his expression.

"Okay, what the fuck aren't you telling me, and why is the village so quiet and sad looking?" Draco says groggily through the smoke filling his lungs.

"Right, I sort of forgot you were coming, this last week has been a blur" Rob croaks, propping himself up against the headboard, sheets pooling at his naked waist, brow furrowed as he struggles to articulate words in his half-awake state.

"Okay, so what's going on?"

"Last Friday, Chrissie and I were arguing up at the scrapyard that Adam and Aaron own. I'm a silent partner in the business, so I was checking the books when she showed up and set fire to my car. There were gas canisters around, the fire set one off in the air and it hit a helicopter that was on its way to the wedding going on at village hall. The helicopter crashed into the building. Two people died, including my aunt; Val"

"But… wait, you said Val owned this place?"

"Yeah, with her husband Eric. Hence, the crying guy next door who woke you up. He's been doing that all week every morning. I keep hoping he'll fuck off and sleep at home where he's supposed to, but I don't think he wants to go back there right now"

"Well, shit, that's why Diane wasn't working behind the bar yesterday; your step-mum, you talk about her on the phone a lot. Val would have been her sister, right?" Draco frowns, raising his eyebrows and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, sucking on his cigarette.

"Yup"

Draco sighs and flicks his cig out of the window, closing it and putting his coffee on the nightstand, climbing over the bed and sitting cross-legged in front of him.

"Well you can't sit around here all day"

"How do you know that's what I've been doing?"

"It smells like sweat and misery in here, you maggot. Give yourself a kick up the ass for goodness sake, I thought you were a successful businessman?" he says shamelessly, ignoring his offended expression

"I am!"

"Well then fucking act like it," Draco tells him firmly "what investments do you actually still have a hand in?"

"A couple of hotels in Hotton, a garage in Leeds, a couple of manor houses on Dartmoor, and the scrapyard here. Why?" he frowns, still pissed off at Draco's forward and insulting pep talk.

"Well you said there was an explosion at the scrap yard"

"Yes"

"Then you need a clean-up crew up there sorting shit out, the police will be done with their forensics now – or at least they should be, I don't know how the muggle system works. Call Aaron, you can meet him up there later today and figure out where to start"

"What if I don't want to see him?"

"You did okay yesterday, stop making excuses. Your family need you to not lay about right now"

Robert glares at him for a while, before he blinks and sighs heavily. Draco smiles triumphantly and pushes up on his knees slightly, taking Rob's face in his hands and pressing a rough kiss to his forehead before standing up off of the bed again and stepping into his jeans. He fastens his belt and pulls on some thick woollen socks. He leaves Rob's jumper on because it's warm and smells nice, which is a welcome feat considering how bad everything else smells in this little pocket of the country.

"This is why I called you. I knew you wouldn't let me rot away in here like I want to," Robert admits begrudgingly.

"I know, that's why I came. If you want I can call some guys in from my side, get them cleaning it up quicker with magic. I'll just put some cloaking spells over it to keep it hidden from above whilst they get everything in order"

"Could you do that?"

"I could probably do the job myself to be honest, but I have a few other things I need to sort out. Like where we're going to live for the next few months whilst I'm here"

"The B&B isn't that bad"

"Robert, I am not living here. The water pressure in the showers is shit and the man running it is a grieving widow. We need a proper place. Who owns the houses in the village?"

"I don't know, a few different people, I think a few of them are council owned-"

"Great," Draco grins, searching for his phone unsuccessfully and giving up, taking his wand from beneath his pillow and muttering an Accio. It flies at him from underneath a pile of Rob's clothes in the corner of the room and he catches it easily in mid-air. Robert looks impressed.

"Seeker," he shrugs "I'll explain it later. C'mon, get dressed"

* * *

"This is depressing. Why are you even here? You can't actually _want_ to be at the funeral of my dead aunt right now. Haven't you been to enough funerals since the war ended?" Robert grumbles, sniffing to himself.

"I have, but this suit is designer and I look damn good in it, and what better excuse to wear it than to the funeral of my best friend's dead relative?" Draco replies, not meeting Rob's eyes as he tightens and straightens his bowtie for him.

"Everyone is asking questions about you, you know? They want to know if you're my new arm piece"

"More like the other way around," Draco snorts, rolling his eyes and dropping his hand into the pocket of his tailored slacks. He does look good in it. It's a beautiful suit. It's just that his skin is already so pale, and black never really does a lot of good for his complexion. Regardless, if his behind looks fuckable, he's never really too bothered by it. And his behind _always_ looks fuckable.

"Rob," Aaron's voice comes from behind him, and Robert frowns, turning to face him. Aaron is also in a suit, looking significantly different to what he did the other day behind the bar. Damn. Draco can definitely see why Robert fell in love with him; he has an ass he can bounce a fifty pence piece off, and the muscle definition in his arms and torso to go with it.

"Are you sure I can't hit that?"

"Dream on, rich boy," Aaron remarks, and Draco clutches his chest dramatically.

"You wound me, I thought I was irresistible, my powers of seduction are wearing thin"

"Wow," Aaron says, raising his eyebrows at Robert "there really are two of you. Look, mate," he gets to the point now, stepping forward "I'm sorry about Val. I know you weren't close, but… y'know"

Draco resists the urge to start humming sad violin music.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know"

"C'mere, you idiot," Aaron tuts, rolling his eyes and embracing him tightly. Robert's hands linger at Aaron's waist for a second too long as he pulls away, and as Aaron returns to where his mother is standing at the church doors, Draco squeezes Robert's shoulder tightly with one hand, the other sliding into his, lacing their fingers together. He presses a comforting kiss to Rob's temple and squeezes his hand, drawing in a deep breath.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay," he says quietly.

"I – I know," Robert nods, his voice breaking for a moment before he tightens his jaw, blinks, and nods again.

"Come on then, let's go and say goodbye to a woman I never met and know nothing about," Draco says, tugging him forward lightly, keeping his grip on his hand.

Robert rolls his eyes at him and follows him in, looking significantly less tense, but nervous and sad all the same.

The service is painful to sit through despite never knowing the woman it's for, and Draco remembers the flood of funerals last year. Order members, deatheaters, ministry workers, children. They all blur together in his head, a whirling mix of sad music, silent grief, and people sobbing into each other's shoulders, watching tiny coffins being lowered into the ground.

It runs cold in his veins and he grits his teeth together trying to remember that this isn't about him. This is about his friend, who he needs to be strong for, who's hand is shaking where it sits in his on his knee, who takes slow, steady steps beside him as they walk the coffin up the village towards the cemetery he'd seen when he first arrived the other day.

He doesn't feel very sad as he watches them drop it carefully six feet under, and he wonders if there's something wrong with that, if it makes him a heartless bastard. He doesn't feel sad, but he looks across the circle and sees little old Diane crying into Eric's embrace, and he sees Robert's sister Victoria holding onto her boyfriend for dear life, and he feels Rob's grip on his hand getting tighter as he tries desperately to hold it together, and he can understand. He knows what it's like to be them, stood over the grave of someone they love, watching them leave the world forever, feeling the last thread of that connection being cut abruptly, like losing a limb.

They go back to the pub for a couple of pints afterwards, but they don't eat anything and they sort of mostly remain in a booth in the corner. Aaron sits with them for a little while and has a brief, monosyllabic conversation with Robert about the clean-up process going on up at the scrap yard and agrees to meet next week about how to go ahead from here. The village vicar and her ex-vicar husband sit down opposite them and give their condolences, and ask Draco's name, to which they introduce themselves officially and give him their business card, but nothing else really happens until Victoria sits with them, Adam sliding in beside her.

"So, Draco, where are you from?" Victoria says with a sickly sweet tone and Draco smiles back, bracing himself to use his brain to mouth filter more effectively.

"I was born on the outskirts of London. My family own a manor house out there"

"Ooh, very cool. How many rooms does it have?"

"We recently knocked it down. It held all too much memory of my father, but originally it had around a hundred rooms in total," he says, careful not to reveal too much.

"Didn't you get lost?"

"Only when I was a child. Mother almost pulled out all of her hair when I learned to walk"

"Awh, what a cutie," she laughs. Robert snorts into his beer, spluttering. Draco slaps him on the back harder than is necessary.

"How did you two meet?" Draco asks, trying to remember how to mimic appropriate conversation. It's been so long since he's been a socialite, he can't quite grasp how it used to be so easy for him, as a young aristocrat, to be so comfortable with pleasantries and speaking with people he barely knows.

"We were together when we were younger actually. Got together again last year, never looked back," Adam answers.

"You look happy," Draco nods, smiling, desperately grasping for that charming young boy who used to be able to win over the hearts of everyone in a room; well, anyone who was rich and pure-blooded anyways. What would his father say now, seeing him sat in a pub full of muggles talking about relationships and his childhood?

"We are, no thanks to this one," Adam says.

"I like to know my baby sister isn't short changing herself with the riff raff"

Draco slaps Robert up the back of the head and apologises as Victoria guides Adam away before they start something.

"What the fuck was that for?" Robert growls, rubbing the back of his head and looking furious.

"Don't be so fucking derogatory in public, you idiot! I'm a classist pig but I have some semblance of tact nowadays, because I learned my lesson. Remember where being an outright asshole got me? Remember how much pain I caused people? Do. Not. Fucking. Do. That. It will just wind you up alone and hated"

"Don't be such a fucking hypocrite"

"And don't forget who you're talking to, Sugden. I know what it's like. I know how shit it is when you can't be who you are, when you're afraid of who you are," Draco snaps, staring him down.

"This has nothing to do with my sexuality, don't be pathetic"

"It has everything to do with your sexuality, Robert. You had to hide it for years. That has an effect on a person; it makes you defensive and judgemental so that you can hide your own fear of being judged first. You're upset today, it's bound to make you even more of a dick than usual, but this is your family, and Victoria is your sister. She needs you to play nice"

Robert glares at him for a few seconds, before he breaks the gaze and stares furiously at his beer. Draco sighs and drinks the rest of his own, rolling himself a cigarette. When he gets up, he holds his hand out wordlessly to Robert, who takes it begrudgingly and follows him outside. They walk out to one of the fields, holding hands whilst Draco smokes in silence, listening to the birds and the church bells, moving slowly and steadily, the cold beating down on them, seeping through their suits, making their breaths discernible in the air.

"I'm sorry. Well, I'm not really sorry. But I'm sorry for pissing you off. I – I don't know, this is just who I am. I don't know how to be any other way," Robert sighs eventually.

"It's okay to be honest. You can be honest with people, and they'll respect you for it. But there's a difference between being honest, and being mean. People don't like mean. Nobody does. Not even you. You can't be like that in public, Robert. This is all shit that I've learned in everything I've put myself through these past couple of years. I made some really fucked up choices. I'm still an asshole, but I know how to not hurt people now. I know – I don't _want_ to hurt people anymore; at least not all the time, and not for no reason"

"You're my friend. That's why you're my friend, right? So you'll tell me when I'm being an asshole?" Rob asks.

"Yes," Draco says with a smile, tugging Robert in sideways so he can kiss his temple again, throwing an arm around his shoulder. Robert sighs heavily and threads an arm around Draco's waist as they continue walking, Draco still smoking with his free hand.

"Aaron used to tell me. He used to tell me when I was being an asshole. Which is pretty much all the time to be honest. But – I don't know, he used to be honest with me. He was my friend too, you know?"

"Your only friend around here by the looks of it," Draco remarks, and Robert nudges him in retaliation.

"I fucked it up, didn't I?"

"You sort of fucked everything up to be honest. But then so did I," Draco admits.

"I guess we're just two fuck ups being assholes together then?"

"Yes," Draco grins at him "I reckon we are"

* * *

He wakes up the following week and sits up, confused when Robert isn't snoring like a foghorn in his ear. He squints through one eye at the shape sat cross-legged on the floor in the darkness, frustratedly waving a stick around. His hand moves instinctually behind him to get his wand from beneath his pillow, but it's not there and he realises that it's the stick Robert is currently poking at things with.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he grumbles, and Robert continues stabbing it at the carpet.

"It won't work for me," he whines petulantly "why won't it work for me?"

"Because you're a muggle, you idiot, it only works for the wizard its compatible with," he croaks, still squinting through one eye and smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, frowning.

"But why? You have a cool toy that I don't have and it isn't working! _Why_ won't it work for me?"

"Because it's not in your DNA, dickbag. My magic is in my genetic makeup somewhere that can't be found even if you stick my blood sample in a petree dish and stare at it for hours. It's elemental. The magic in my DNA links with the magical DNA at the wand's core, and focuses my power. That's why we use wands, they focus our power"

"I don't like it," Robert pouts, handing him the wand back but not moving from the floor.

"Lumos," Draco utters and the wand lights up brightly at the end.

"You're faking, it's a trick"

"Levicorpus"

"Hmmphhh!"

"Pretty cool trick, if you ask me," Draco remarks, still croaky and half-awake as he stares at Robert's upside down face where he dangles in the air.

"You're mean," Robert glares at him "I hate you"

"No you don't, but if you touch my wand again I'll jinx your hair green for two weeks," Draco says, letting him down lightly, softening the blow by grabbing a cushion and quickly sliding it under him before he hits the floor

"You wouldn't"

"I really would. Now go the fuck to sleep. You're my boyfriend, not my child, I shouldn't have to do this shit at 3am"

"Boyfriend?" Robert says suddenly, breathy and surprised, eyes wide. The breath hitches in Draco's throat and he freezes, realising what he's just said.

"You called me your boyfriend"

"No," Draco insists, panicking "no I didn't, you're hearing things. It's late, go to sleep"

"You definitely said boyfriend," Robert says, pushing up slowly on his knees.

"No I fucking didn't-"

He's cut off with Robert kissing him, catching his bottom lip between his softly to begin with, drawing in a sharp, deep breath, and then deepening it, grabbing at his face, pushing up further, climbing onto the bed again, pushing him back against the pillows, breathing heavily and fragmented, Draco unable to process anything other than how fucking sublime it is.

His hands move along the sides of Robert's body, nails dragging up his back lightly, drawing a whimper from him, which he swallows thickly, gripping then at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, going from tired and playful and mildly annoyed, to shocked, slightly confused, and incredibly turned on in the space of ten seconds.

Robert breaks the kiss a moment later, panting, their foreheads pressed together.

"Boyfriend. You. Are. My. Boyfriend," Robert insists, his voice laced with arousal and haziness, almost drunk

"Fine by me," Draco breathes, joining the kiss again; deeper, wetter, filthier, and far more desperate. They've done this a million times before, back when they first met, when he came to Emmerdale, these past few weeks, and now, gripping tightly, frantically at each other, stripping the sheets that lay between them, pulling away the barriers keeping them from _more_. And fuck if Draco doesn't need more like he needs to breathe.

* * *

They move into the new house two months later, regardless of how much Draco's been complaining about staying in the B&B. It's on the right of the village at the bottom near the church, next to a woman named Rachel, her baby Archie, her boyfriend Sam, and his child, Samson – Draco had laughed himself stupid upon learning that name, honestly, muggles can be so fucking weird.

Draco has most of their stuff being sorted by magic, and Robert gets hit in the face by flying object more than once on moving day. They spend the rest of the week re-painting the walls and airing the place out, hauling their furniture in through the French doors in the garden, both of them having spent an obscene amount of money on oak woods and silk sheets and top of the range appliances.

Although Draco doesn't really see the need for such appliances, he's definitely getting used them and starting to enjoy their little functions. He's quite fascinated, for example, by the ice machine in the fridge door and how he just has to press a button to get ice in his drink. Really, he just has to wave his wand and get ice in his drink, but it's the inventory side of it that counts. Muggles are weird, but they're pretty fucking resourceful.

They go for an old, classic type theme throughout the house; dark woods and spacey minimalism, although Draco insists on having a proper fireplace installed through the chimney. He finds it strange at first; he's never really lived anywhere with so few rooms, and without house elves cooking and cleaning and doing his washing for him. Robert has to teach him the basics, and he gives them food poisoning trying to make spagbol one night, but he's getting there slowly, and it's almost frightening how quickly they fall into domesticity.

"It's a fantastic film! The music score is breath-taking, the CGI is amazing, and the acting is great!" Robert insists, glaring at him from where he's laid out across Draco's chest on the sofa.

"It's the last half-decent film they made before Joss Whedon fucked everything up with his wank party bullshit and fake feminist narrative masking his misogyny. Age of Ultron was the shittiest film they've made since Spiderman 3"

"How dare you insult Toby Maguire!" Robert gasps, genuinely offended "he was a comedic treasure"

"He was cringey as fuck! The only good thing to come out of those films was the soundtrack, and that's only because Heroes by Nickleback is the best song of the early two thousands. We are not endorsing Marvel's bullshit right now, they're slacking and until the Russo brothers pick it up out of the gutter for cap 3, that shit is not playing on my television"

"Fine!" Robert snaps, crossing his arms over his torso and nudging Draco forcefully in the ribs.

"Fine!" Draco snaps back nudging him harder so that he rolls off of him and lands hard on the floor on his ass. They stare forcefully at each other for a good five minutes before Draco throws the remote to the floor in frustration and huffs, narrowing his eyes at Robert.

"This is stupid, we're grown men"

"Marvel"

"DC! For fuck sake, you asshole!"

"Fine, we'll just see what's on Netflix," Robert sighs in resignation, climbing back up on the sofa and flopping on top of Draco again, front first this time, flattening his cheek between his pectorals and wrapping his arms around his waist like a petulant little limpet.

"New Girl. I like Zoe Deschanel"

"Finally, something we can agree on," Draco snorts, still irritated, but finding himself embarrassingly unable to resist leaching Robert's heat, flicking through the necessary search engine and starting again from season one, snuggling further into the cushions, getting more comfortable, and wrapping his arms around Robert in turn, pressing a rough, pissed off kiss to the top of his head and resting his attention on the television.

American sitcoms always are shamelessly engaging.

* * *

"We made five million this month, with the London magazine doing well, we're catching up to GQ and Teen Vogue with the popularity ratings," Draco says, skimming through the papers with the tip of his index finger, frowning.

"The Boutiques in Leeds are bringing in at least a quarter of that net worth," Robert replies.

"Bullshit, the wedding business in Exeter is pulling in at least 25%"

"The wedding business _I_ started and hired Aaron for, and he brings in the majority of the takings for that"

"He has incentive," Draco says distractedly and Robert does a small double take.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Your ex-boyfriend runs what makes up at least 25% of our takings; it means whatever the fuck you think it means"

"Ha! You admitted it. The wedding business is a money spinner and you are losing"

"I don't lose. The magazine is going to hit an all-time high next month, I guarantee it"

"Bet you three grand"

"You're on. Loser pays three grand, _and_ pays the monthly slap up meal"

"Deal. I'm going to wipe the floor with you," Robert says, grinning excitedly, rubbing his hands together

"Have fun trying," Draco replies, smirking and handing the rest of the papers to their accountant, Natalie, who is rolling her eyes at them, tutting at them.

"I've got it from here, boys. I'll give you a summary tomorrow, although I don't know why you bother, all your businesses go into the same joint account"

"What about the off-shore accounts? The savings accounts?"

"All separate from your mainline investments. Now fuck off and let me do my job, even if that does mean satisfying your matched egotistical needs to win something and assert your power"

"Thanks, Nat, you're a star," Rob grins at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Sure. Go away, please, before I punch you both in the testicals"

* * *

"What about buying into the antique motor business?" Robert says one day whilst they're having a pint in the woolpack. It's not busy, because it's a Sunday, but they have some meetings in Hotton later on, and are due to fly out to Miami to sign some contracts the following day, so they're up early and brainstorming again.

"Hmm…" Draco frowns, unconvinced "it's risky. There's never a guaranteed market, and it's difficult to manipulate, antique car buyers know their worth"

"But if it works, it could make us thousands more per annum," Robert says, slapping some figure sheets on the table between them "we buy the parts as cheap as we can get them, I did some research and I already have some people lined up and prepared to sell at half if they get a column in the London Magazine-"

"I didn't okay that. That's mine, and I didn't okay that"

"I didn't think you'd mind"

"I don't really, I'm just – Rob, have you really thought this through?"

"Yes, 100%. And if it doesn't work, this is on me; my fault, etc.," Robert sighs, wetting his lips with his tongue. There's a sparkle in his eyes that has Draco inwardly groaning because he knows how much Robert loves antique cars and how passionate he is about their paint work, their engineering, their smell, the sounds they make. It's like what reading old books is to Draco. It's just… well, for lack of a better word, magic.

"You say you have some sellers and buyers lined up already?"

"Yes, I spoke to some people yesterday. I'll have to travel out next week to secure it, and get Aaron back in the garage with Debbie to put it together and fix it up and it's a long term investment. I know it's a hail mary, but I really think it could work. Do you trust me?"

"I – yes, I trust you, you know I do"

"I can do this, Draco, I know I can"

"Alright," Draco nods, and Robert grins so wide and brightly, his ridiculously beautiful blue eyes lighting up with so much excitement, that he doesn't give a shit if they lose a couple of million on this; its fucking worth it if he gets to see Rob get so stupidly happy about it more frequently. He deserves that at least.

* * *

The champagne pops loudly, and he gets showered with a lot of it, but the most he can do is smile, his face hurting with how happy he is, how wonderful it is to see Robert shaking the hands proudly and confidently of some of the most successful business figureheads in England. Yes, it had been one of the biggest hail mary's they'd ever bought into, and for the first few months they were touch and go, but by the end of the year, half of elite Britain are driving Robert's refurbished antique motors, and they've even branched out to motorbikes and scooters.

And with every hand that he watches Robert shake from his place at the bar, sipping his whiskey and smiling, feeling a little elated and probably slightly drunk, Draco gets more and more nervous and excited to give Robert his birthday present. It's probably one of the most extravagant gifts he's ever given, and he swears to Merlin if the snarky bastard doesn't appreciate it, he's going to get in the damn thing and run him over repeatedly. But he's really looking forward to the look on Rob's face regardless of the aftermath reaction.

When it looks like Robert's socialising is coming to a bit of an end, he texts Aaron to drive the car round the front and hand the keys to the doorman, a friend of his named Callium who he trusts not to run off with £20,000,000 worth of automobile.

"I'm fuckin exhausted," Robert huffs as he sits down and orders a vodka lemonade with ice, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to Draco's mouth, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, smiling, breathless, and content.

"You earned it. And down that, slugger, your night isn't over yet," Draco tells him, swigging down the rest of his whiskey.

"Oh?" Robert frowns, bemused.

"I have an early birthday present for you, Mr Successful," he tells him, smirking deviously to hide how anxious he is "and if you don't like it, I'm literally going to shoot you in the face"

"Don't be an idiot, you know I'll like whatever it is. As long as it's over two grand and shiny," Rob teases, winking at him, finishing his drink quickly and tipping the barmaid. Draco swallows to wet his suddenly dry throat and draws in a deep breath, smiling and taking Rob's hand, guiding him away from the large venue where the big wigs were now managing okay without him, and through some double doors towards the front of the building.

"I swear if it's something ridiculous like when you tried to buy the moon, I'm – _holy fucking shit on a stick_ "

Robert freezes, eyes wide, breath hitching in his throat, hands clasping over his mouth, an expression of complete disbelief on his face.

"Eddie Smith Senior's 1967 Ferrari 275 GTB/4 S NART Spider," Draco says as confidently as he can manage, taking the keys off the doorman and shaking his hand, loosely dropping down the steps and letting the cold night air cool his skin where he is sweating into his suit, gliding one finger along the length of the pristine jet red paint work "in the flesh"

"B-b-b-but"

"Yup," Draco grins, chucking the keys up to him. Robert only just manages to catch them. For a moment, Draco thinks he might actually have a heart attack, until Robert suddenly animates again, running fast down the stairs, around the car, and grabbing his face, kissing him roughly, desperately, wonderfully. When he breaks away, his eyes are still wide and glassy and there's a smile of complete bemusement on his face as he shakes his head.

"How?"

"Lots of tracking and paying people off," Draco says softly, the words catching in his throat slightly, unsettled to be so emotional about a car and a person.

"It's – fuck," Robert shakes his head again, finally turning to the car, placing his palm out on the hood of it "it's beautiful. I – I love you so much, you ridiculous, insane man"

"Charming," Draco remarks, although his chest is doing somersaults beneath his ribcage, the rush of being told he's loved and wanted and that he's made Robert happy making him mildly lightheaded and slightly embarrassed "I love you too. Are you actually going to get into the car, or just stare at it?"

"I – I don't know. I'm going to give you the blowjob of your life tonight. It will make all my other blowjobs look seem like nothing in comparison"

"That's lovely, you should say that in our vows one day," he points out to him, stepping into the car in the passenger seat, listening to the hum of the engine as he starts it up.

"Okay, there's no way we're going home after this. We're going to drive around for like three hours, and then I'm going to check us into the most expensive five star hotel room we can find, and I'm going to fuck you until we're immobile and incapable of coherent thought"

"Sounds good to me," Draco laughs as they pull out of the car park and Robert practically keens with happiness. And holy shit it really fucking does.


End file.
